#chess skirmish

[pencilbrony]

Chess Spinoff Series

#not pony #concept #chess #tabletop #chess skirmish #boardgame #gaming

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it.  As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day.  ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR:  You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight.  Check out the types below the cut: 

Infantry (pawn):   Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds).  Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage.  The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight):  A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully  the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages.  Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes.  Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players. 

Controller (bishop):  The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples),  by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers,  barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting:  1 per 2-3  players: 

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows.  Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast.  Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players. 

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #combat #dap combat hack #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

[kingofthewilderwest]

Do you think Hiccup could have physically overpowered Viggo?

I do not! Assuming we're looking at a straightforward physical one-on-one, Viggo would win. At least 9 times out of 10.

While Hiccup has the advantage of:

Blacksmith

Constantly physically active in ways that'd strengthen you

Stronk Proof Via Snotlout Punch

and Viggo has the disadvantage of:

Leader who sends other brawn out

Chess Maces and Talons nerd

we've still seen Viggo in action. Viggo is a man of war. An adult man of war. Viggo is older, bigger, more matured and developed, and by logical accounts stronger than a still-growing beanpole teen (even a very active and honed beanpole).

And I think that's good. While villain variety is good (not all should be Sir Brawny Brawn the Muscle Man), Hiccup is the hiccup, the unlikely pipsqueak who's made it within a war-heavy Viking realm by showing how to be different. Hiccup is active enough to hold his own, utilize his intelligence, and work with dragons to overcome any skirmish. But I like that Hiccup remains the beanpole in this world, highlighting that, no mind he's grown tall and handsome, he's still a unique product like the archipelago's never seen.

#httyd analysis #analysis #DreamWorks Dragons #rtte #Race to the Edge #Viggo Grimborn #Hiccup #ask #ask me #awesome anonymous friend #anonymous #httyd #How to Train Your Dragon

[fatuismooches]

Going off the little crumb of the Traveler finding comatose Fragile!Reader...

It was random chance they ended up in the room the 2nd Harbinger sealed off from all living things other than himself. Chaos and and unpredictability was the only way to keep up with or even get slightly ahead of the Doctor. After all, how likely is it that say, a broken waypoint would transport a person to this room when it could just as easily land them in the Chasm or the middle of the sea (though they had ended up in those places a few times trying to pull this plan off).

All the Traveler knew about this room was what Childe and that one Skirmisher has said: something important to Dottore is kept in that room, something that could potentially be used to force him into a proper confrontation where the Traveler could take him down once and for all.

But now that they were inside it, they were certain of one thing: they hadn't expected it to look like a combination of a bedroom and a hospital. A wardrobe, a chess table, a cabinet filled with various bottles filled with liquids and pills, machines keeping track of vitals and...

A person sleeping in a large bed, wearing something similar to an Akasha Terminal.

Paimon had even been stunned into silence as she looked around the room, a first for her. She floated closely by the Traveler as they walked closer to the sleeping person.

They looked sick. Incredibly sick. If it wasn't for the fact that the Traveler could see them breathing, they would have thought they were looking at a corpse. But no, they were simply sleeping, paying no mind to the two other people in the room with them.

They giggled a bit in their sleep, murmuring what sounded like "Zandik..." before going quiet once again.

Then the door to the room slammed open.

😭😭😭😭😭😭 HOW ARE Y'ALL COMING UP WITH THIS DELICIOUS STUFF OMFG

The second Harbinger was far stronger than the Traveler wanted to admit. Nahida wasn’t kidding when she said he had powers equal to Gods. But they needed to find a way to take Dottore down. Even if it meant having some kind of leverage over him. The only lead they had was the few words from the eleventh. He still didn’t have much intel, as Dottore was a secretive man after all, but what he said was intriguing. Rumor had it that he potentially had a secret, something that no one else knew about. Tucked far, far away from everyone else. Many people had theorized on what it could be, and although many sounded crazy, it was Dottore after all. Nothing was impossible.

But the one thing the Traveler did not expect it to be was a person. Much less a person soundly sleeping, multiple wires attached to their body and hooked up to machines, donning something that the Traveler recognized as the… Akasha Terminal. No, this was different, probably altered by the Fatui. By how you did not even move an inch from the Traveler’s sudden intrusion, they surmised you must be in a really deep sleep. But this appearance… though the room reminded them of a hospital - multiple cabinets with more medical equipment they could name - it felt, how to put it, personalized. There were decorations and colors the Traveler knew Dottore would never put up by himself. So was it… for you? Especially the chess set that sat next to you, looking like it had been left unused for quite a while.

Even the ever talkative Paimon had lost her words, and clung to the Traveler. For anyone who knew of Dottore’s nature would be frightened by this room. As the pair approached you, they got a better look at your appearance. Tiredness and sickness was written all over your face, and when you moved your lips, the Traveler held their’s to hear what you’d say.

Zandik. They had recalled that name while exploring Sumeru, finding notes here and there. Quickly, they put two and two together. A bad feeling started to bubble up inside the Traveler. The rest of the Harbingers they fought - Signora, Scaramouche, Childe - despite their sins, they had one thing in common. They all had-

Once the door swung open, the Traveler couldn’t help but still feel guilty for what they were about to do.

CRYING I LOVE THESE CRUMBS SO MUCH 😭💕 I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY... ANON U ARE REALLY GREAT AT WRITING 😭

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #had me lying down staring at the ceiling just thinking 😭 #i love this brainrot

[astravv]

ꜱᴋɪʀᴍɪꜱʜᴇʀ — ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

✰ — 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ▸ hi i really like dottore also don’t come at me if the time line is wrong bc i’m making it a two month difference between inazuma archon quests and sumeru ones. but i did try to look and see a timeline of this but i got super lazy. if someone in the comments does want to let me know how much time it is supposed to be between inazuma and sumeru bc i am genuinely curious.

✰ — 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 ▸ sexual content , eating out , fingering , cursing

✰ — 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬) ▸ dottore x f! reader

✰ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ▸ you were the tsarita’s assistant, her right hand woman, whatever you’d like to call it. you and her had a bond since she took you in from the house of the hearth. when scaramouch rebelled against the divine, you became the next number six of the eleven fatui harbingers.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢

two months before รςคгค๓๏ยςђє removed himself from irminsul

you enter the jester’s office, with a wide smile upon your face. you head over to the jester’s desk and stand right in front of him. since the jester is number one of the harbingers, he got the biggest office and sleeping quarters. pierro’s office was huge with his own library and chess table, where two of the gnosis were sitting, like they were being used to play chess. there was curtains and his sleeping quarters connected to his office, also a very nice and large bedroom.

“y/n,” the jester sets both of his elbows on the table, connecting his fingers together and lying his chin on the connected hands. “you have a lot of responsibility now, you are sixth of the eleventh fatui harbingers, the skirmisher.”

“yes,” you reply coldly. “you act like i barely had any responsibility to begin with. do i have to remind you that the tsaritsa herself, chose me to be her assistant?”

“like that matters, y/n.” the jester groaned. “i don’t feel like getting into this with you. go decorate your new room or something.”

you scoff and walk out of the overly large door. as you head out, a familiar voice comes behind you, following you through the hallway.

“what was that about?” il dottore asks, trying to catch up with me.

“oh just pierro being pierro.” you chuckle, heading right the staircase, but dottore runs in front of you and grabs your hand, walking you down the stairs. he steps at few in front of you on the last few steps and kisses your hand.

“y/n, my darling,” dottore smiles, “you’re officially replaced the Շђє ๒คɭɭค๔єєг, which means, will you be staying in my office?”

“if you are lucky, doctor.” you smirk, blowing him and kiss and skipping ahead of him.

“mm, if i’m lucky, huh?” dottore smiles, walking over to the large glass windows of zapolyarny palace. you head over to him, also staring out the window to the dark, cold night that fell upon sneznhaya.

“when do you leave for your trip to sumeru?” you question quietly, holding your large fatui coat over you so you wouldn’t freeze to death in the hallway which is cold as ice.

“in a few days, why? are you going to miss me?” dottore teases, cupping your cheek with his surprisingly soft hand.

“of course. who else am i going to talk to?” you roll your eyes, melting into dottore’s touch.

“you have arlecchino and columbina, darling.” he replies, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “come spend the night in my room, it’ll wash away all those bad feelings, y/n.”

“you’re right.” you mumble, following dottore back to his assigned bedroom.

once we got there, he opened the door, letting you in and for a few seconds you study the room. dottore’s room is a bit smaller than pierro’s. he has a lab set up and his office is very messy, with quite a few papers strung about. through the corridor where large curtains are hung up is his actual living quarters, with a big bed and lots of room for a couch and bookshelves.

dottore walks you to his living quarters and he flops down onto his bed. you roll your eyes at him, making your way to his closet to change into something you had left in his room for nights like this.

you slip out of your large coat and your outfit, putting on some small silky pink shorts and a white tank top that really showed your chest off nice.

you head over to dottore’s bed and flop down beside him.

“i really don’t want you to leave.” you murmur softly. your words really just go through one ear and out the other with dottore. but he turns to you and smiles a little.

“since you don’t want me to go, i can make tonight memorable for you.” dottore coos, pulling himself on top of you with a smirk plastered across his face.

“oh really now?” you tease, “let’s see how memorable we can make it.”

dottore wastes no time pulling up your tank top and setting his hands on your plush chest, squeezing it and teases your nipples softly.

“you drive me insane, y/n.” dottore growls, bending himself down and latching onto one of the nipples he had previously been teasing. he licks and bites and sucks on the mound, like he was so hungry for it.

“mm, dottore.” you moan, “i’m going to miss this while you are gone.”

“i’m sure you will, y/n.” dottore mumbles, shuffling himself down further between your thighs. your breath hitches as he parts your thighs, kissing your clothed cunt. he softly pulls your shorts and underwear down, throwing them somewhere off the bed. you move your hand down and slide your fingers through his soft hair, give him some soft head scratches.

he kisses your wetness and starts to eat you out, devouring every inch of you that he can take advantage of as he pleases. he licks your slit up and down, causing your legs to close around his head.

“mm, you taste so divine, my love.” he murmurs, sticking one of his fingers inside of you, slowly pushing them in and out. usually, dottore was quick with his motions of intercourse, but tonight he was taking his time with you.

suddenly, the door is pushed open, and there in his office, the regrator stands with his mouth slightly agape to what he was seeing.

“dottore?” pantalone calls out, crossing his arms and turning around so he wouldn’t be staring right at your half-naked body.

“what, pantalone? can’t you see i’m a little busy?” dottore groans, setting himself up and pulling the covers over you to hide you.

“come outside.” pantalone gestures, walking out the door, closing it on his way out.

“my god.” dottore rolls his eyes, looking back at you as he softly grabs your hand and leaves a small kiss on it. “i will be back.”

dottore gets off the bed and walks out to where pantalone is, closing the door to his room so you couldn’t hear anything they were saying.

dottore stands in front of pantalone, crossing his arms and giving him a pissed off look.

“you and y/n?” pantalone mentions. “how’s that?”

“it’s frankly none of your business, regrator.” dottore growls, “don’t tell anyone about this. we are not public yet.”

“you will be public if she keeps spending the night in your room. don’t think i haven’t seen her sneak in there at the dead of night when she’s usually asleep near the tsaritsa’s living quarters.”

“so you’re stalking her, hm?” dottore groans, clenching his hands together, almost ready to punch the banker in his face. “i don’t take lightly to stalkers, if we were subordinates or not.”

“no,” pantalone sighs, “i wasn’t stalking her. i was in the same hallway and managed to see her walk into your room.”

“how did you know she’s spending the night then?” dottore questions.

“it’s just a hunch, doctor, no need to get so serious.” pantalone replies. he chuckles a little at the end of the sentence, but dottore can tell it’s just him trying to light up the mood.

“so what did you even need me for? to see if your suspicions were correct? to ridicule me about y/n?” dottore demands, he can feel himself heating up as he spits out his words.

“no, i wanted to let you know that we’re having a funeral for rosalyne tomorrow.” the regrator answers, turning himself around, ready to walk away. “don’t be late.”

“fuck you, pantalone. i came out here to hear that?” dottore growls, he shakes his head and opens his office door immediately slamming it behind him, locking it too.

“what’s going on?” you ask softly as you sit up, staring at dottore who’s facing the door with a very angry expression.

“it’s nothing, darling.” dottore smiles, walking over to you and flopping beside you on the bed.

“we should probably just go to bed, it’s late.” you murmur, pulling the covers over your body and staring at the white, blank wall.

“i would figure so too.” dottore pulls the sheets over him and pulls you closer, wrapping him arms around your waist and nuzzling himself into your neck. “i’m sorry.”

“dottore, apologizing to me?” you chuckle, cupping his cheek with you hand.

“shut up.”

one month before รςคгค๓๏ยςђє removed himself from irminsul

“how are you settling in?” columbina’s soft voice asks over the dinner table. when columbina talks, she has this sorta creepy vibe to it, but it’s very melodic. “i know it must be different than being with the tsaritsa.”

“it’s been alright,” you reply, moving the food on your plate around with your fork. you haven’t really been the happiest lately, since dottore has left for sumeru and all of his segments are busy doing who knows what. “it’s not much different, just more lonely, i would suppose.”

“you can always talk to me if you get lonely, we’re here.” arlecchino, who is seated next to you, suggests.

“you’re right.” you nod, finally taking a bite of food.

arlecchino shoots you a small smile, and goes back to looking at columbina, who’s sitting across the table from her. everyone at the table is chatting but you. you can’t seem to swallow down your food, or even think of anything other than the fact that you feel like you don’t fit in. sure, you were raised in the house of the hearth, so you know how to fight, but you just feel like you haven’t done anything since you were promoted to fatui harbinger.

you would rather be doing something more useful during your time alone, sitting at your desk, thinking of when dottore returns. you visit the tsarista occasionally, but it’s been every now and then since you have been busy with tons of paperwork and assignments. however, they don’t give you many assignments, so most of your time is spent at your desk, pondering.

you sigh, getting up from the dinner table. you grab your plate and walk over to the kitchen, sliding your plate into the sink for the maids to clean. usually, you clean your own dish, but lately you’ve just been wanting to lay down in bed and be lazy.

you head for dottore’s room and not your own. you open the door to find the room just as he had left it. you shut the door behind you and walk over to the bed you and him usually share.

dottore told you that you probably needed to go sleep in your own assigned room, since people would find it odd to see you sleeping in the doctor’s bed without him even present.

you don’t care though, so you flop yourself down onto the comfy bed sheets and find yourself getting lost in your train of thought again.

“dottore..” you mumble. “come home soon, please.”

#fatui #fatui harbingers #genshin #genshin impact #dottore #dottore smut #il dottore #zandik #x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact fatui

[bittersweetorpheus]

this idea has been boiling in my head for WEEKS I tell you WEEEEKSS so I thought I might as well just let it out:

what if you worked for the tsaritsa as just another fatui skirmisher or cicin mage and slowly climb the ranks until you manage to land a position as the personal assistant to the personal assistant to the harbingers! yay! a promotion! but also maybe not so yay since it’s highly likely you get killed in like the first week or so… but whatever, you’ll take what you can get.

they don’t pay much attention to you at first but they eventually warm up to you and even start seeking you out more as time goes on.

meanwhile, you, on the other hand, have started to notice this- how could you not when you could feel the captains gaze on you whenever youre bent down over paperwork and thinks you can’t see him or the way the balladeer always drags you away from whatever you were doing for something “urgent” when he really just wandered around somewhere while ranting about random things to you or the fiery red butterfly that’s seemed to take a liking to you and could almost always be found resting on your shoulder

…and well, there were less subtle ones too- like the random segment that would always be a few steps behind you no matter where you went or the almost weekly chess games that the jester kept invite you even though you kept losing miserably to him hey! it’s not you’re fault when you also have to focus on ignoring the suprising amount of sexual tension!

but even more suprising is the way damselette calls you over to just. lay her head in your lap and sing or doze off while you do your work.

however, unlike damselette, the marionette is one for more silent appreciation. she shows you the projects she’s working on and if you show interest in a particular thing, say, one of automaton she’s creating, she’ll take note of it and might even make a pocket sized version to give to you- something that you could put on your keychain or keep as a figurine if you’re into that type of stuff!

Speaking of gifts- the regrator. gives. you. so. many. at first, he gave you jewelry with a price tag that even glancing at would probably send someone into debt but if you don’t wear jewelry, he’ll probably take note of things you like or hobbies you have. you like drawing? prepare to have trouble opening the door with how many expensive art supplies are piled up infront of it. you like stuffed animals? BOOM!! Your bed is overflowing with so many stuffed animals! You’re hyperfixating on something? Don’t worry- hes got ya covered!

Now, if you ever wanted to get better in combat, who better to ask for help than the Knave herself? However busy she is with the orphanage, she can always find time to help you fix your posture or get better at using a different weapon or anything you might need help with. While she’s cold and straightforward to everyone else, she’s surprisingly patient when it comes to you and sometimes, on the particularly rough days, quietly reassures you that you did good.

And lastly, Childe. He’s one of the more openly friendly ones that you can have actual normal conversations with. He’s definitely more comfortable with showing affection because of the traveler and his family and such so he’s someone you could go to if you just need a hug and a headpat.

Soft harbingers. That’s it. I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY PLEASE MIHOYO PLS GIVE THEM HAPPINESS

anyways so sorry that this turned into just me rambling or if this is incomprehensible or something 😭

#fatui harbingers #pantalone x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #regrator x reader #capitano x reader #the captain x reader #pierro x reader #the jester x reader #columbina #columbina x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #sandrone #sandrone x reader #the knave x reader #the marionette x reader #damselette #damselette x reader #childe x reader #childe #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin ajax #ajax x reader

[novalupin]

Extinguished The Fires

Pairing: Diluc Ragnvindr x (GN)Reader

summary: diluc offered you a place to stay following a sudden fire. how long will it be until unresolved feelings come to the surface?

cw: mentions of blood and injuries, patching up wounds, kissing

notes: this is a repost from ao3, i'm novalupin on there too if you'd prefer reading in that format.

The trees surrounding the winding path filtered beams of moonlight through them, illuminating the weary Pyro user dragging himself to Dawn Winery. He sighed, swatting at the crystalflies which were hovering around his head, his skin gleaming in their aura.

Diluc clutched at his side in agony, his worn boots scratching at the gravel. Every so often, an irritated grunt would slip from him as he narrowly missed muddy roots that threatened to topple him.

It was supposed to be a simple Fatui raid. Take ‘em out, grab any information, disappear. That was the plan. He’d defeated five of them, and they fell to their knees in a fiery blaze, but he'd gotten complacent. He’d rushed straight for the last ones without taking a few seconds to regain his elemental control, hoping brute force with his greatsword would suffice. 

Some Skirmishers were defeated swiftly, but the remaining ones sent Diluc flying to the concrete walls of the stronghold with their weaponry. He was outnumbered and outarmed, and was forced to abandon the mission. Now, he was stuck lumbering home at an ungodly hour like a common drunkard, a ripping pain in his abdomen with each step. 

His thoughts were racing. Word would definitely travel fast through the Fatui’s ranks. The last thing he needed was for a Harbinger to hear of his identity and halt all Mondstadt operations.

But, even with numerous lesions scattered across his body, his mind still drifted back to you.

You’d met the winery owner a couple years prior, often sharing a bottle of wine and a conversation with Kaeya and Rosaria at the bar. Over time, your visits to the tavern had become more frequent, and less of them included the captain and nun. 

Diluc usually detested chatting. It had always seemed like a futile way of passing the time, and he made it abundantly clear to anyone whom he interacted with that he’d much rather eat a slime than make small-talk about their day.

Though, it felt different when he spoke to you. You were so… captivating, to say the least. He spent hours in your company, even working the closing shifts at the bar against his (and Charles’) better judgement just for more time in your presence. He’d fumble out a half-hearted excuse as to why he was still there and converse about your commissions. His thoughts shifted to the first time he'd stayed late. 

“Can I have a-” You started, pausing when you saw he’d already placed your regular order in front of you.

Without missing a beat, he asked, turning to listen intently: “How were your commissions? I caught word there was a hilichurl blockade near Springvale today. Did you manage to collect your materials?”

“Yeah, huge camp. It’s weird that they were this close to the city, though.”

“The Knights never fail to surprise me with their incompetence.” He huffed. “They wouldn’t know their ups from their downs without the Acting Grand Master.”

You had let out a breath of amusement, before rattling on about the loot you’d gathered, and what you planned to use it for.

He hated how fond he was of you. He hated how, when you’d mentioned to your friends in front of him that your house was in shambles after a sudden fire, he’d wasted no time in insisting you use a room at the winery. He hated how he wished it was a permanent arrangement.

He was brought out of his reverie by the winery’s hazy lighting. With a few clicks, he heaved open the oaken doors, and headed upstairs. The maids had long taken their leave, and you were probably asleep, so he didn’t have to worry too much about alarming someone. Recently, you had gotten into the habit of entertaining a game of chess with him before bed, and both of you departed to your rooms. Well, you did, at least. He, on the other hand, would wait a few minutes, grab his coat, and head out the door for his nightly patrols.

His hand hovered over his doorknob, catching a glimpse of light out of the corner of his eye. The library’s door was ajar, leaking candlelight into the dark hallway. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Maybe it slipped his mind when he was getting ready. 

Drawing closer, he heard the faint shuffling of pages coming from inside. It was you, seated in a armchair, eagerly flipping through the book in your hand. There was a large pile of them next to you, no doubt ones you wished to finish.

“You’re up late,” his monotonous voice broke the airy silence. “Good read?”

You nearly jumped out of your own skin. Your voice took on a shaky, frenzied tone as you spoke.

“Oh, Archons, Diluc, I’m so sorry. The door was open,” you rambled. “I really didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, nothing of that sort. You needn’t apologise. What’s mine is yours.” His voice was gentle as he tried to steady his breathing. He would’ve rather bled out than sought any help from a healer, but his wounds were getting the better of him. He inched a bit closer, a gloved finger turning the book slightly to reveal its velvety cover. 

“‘Heart’s Desire’,” he read, nodding in approval. He reasoned that, if he engaged himself in an interesting discussion with you, his pain would be long forgotten. “A riveting tale.”

“It really would be great, though, don’t you think? A secret corner of the city?” You mused happily. “I enjoyed Veiga as the main character, I think she…”

You caught an unusual colour under the layers of his clothing. You furrowed your eyebrows, and extended a hand to push Diluc’s hefty coat to the side, brushing your fingers over his now stained waistcoat. He let out a sharp exhale.

“You’re bleeding! What happened?” You asked, panicked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Miscalculation, that’s all.” He responded sharply, shrugging your touch off of him. He removed his gloves before taking the book from you to skim the pages. “I’ve taken care of it. I don’t need your help.”

He watched as you gave him a skeptical glance, before getting up and leaving the room. He worried that he had upset you, his expression souring at the thought, but you strode back in, arms full with a wooden box he assumed to be healing supplies. You gestured for him to sit, and after a few beats of silence, he relented, and removed his coat, along with his vest. He knew he’d usually deny your aid over and over, but you always seemed to ignore his stubborn objections.

You clicked open the latch and laid out various oils and gauze. Rolling up the sleeves to your nightshirt, you tugged at the bottom of his button-down, silently asking for permission. 

“You don’t have to,” he mumbled. It was a soft, dejected plea, but he unbuttoned the grey fabric with no further protests. It revealed three large gashes across his side, and his haphazard attempt at stopping the bleeding with a ripped piece of fabric.

“For a well-known businessman, you’re not very diplomatic. This might sting.” You said, soaking a piece of the gauze in a cleansing oil, before wiping it on him gently. He let out a hiss at the sensation. You noticed, as you started on the next wound, the amount of scars that marred his toned abdomen, all previously left to mend themselves.

It all felt painfully intimate, the heaving of his chest, his open shirt, the proximity. A small part of you wished it was under better circumstances. He looked down at you through crimson lashes, observing your expression. 

You wrapped up the injuries, flattening out the bandage flush against his skin. He wrapped his fingers around a vial of a pain-suppressor, which he downed instantly. In a controlled whisper, you spoke, rebuttoning his shirt.

“Why do you do this?”

It could have meant so many things. Why do you hurt yourself for a city that pays you no mind? Why do you refuse to ask for help? 

Rising to eye level, you realised how close your faces truly were. He made no attempt to pull back, your breaths intermingling. 

You realised how truly beautiful Diluc was. It’s really easy to call someone attractive, but he was lovely in the way one would speak of a painting. His unruly curls poking out of his ponytail from various angles, the tiny tinge of red on his cheeks perfectly complimenting the fiery hues of his eyes; it was like someone had chiseled him from marble, each carving calculated and perfectly placed to create him. You seemed at a loss for words, and your gaze shifted to the thin scar that cut through his jaw, a memento of old missions. 

Diluc's gaze fell slightly. He didn’t know if it was because his mind was hazy from the painkiller, or it was the late night getting to him, but he made a decision he couldn’t take back.

In one swift motion, his hand gently pulled your jaw to him as he pressed your lips to his. You molded to his touch perfectly, sinking closer into him. It wasn’t passionate or heated; it was a meek, gentle kiss, much resembling two young teenagers who were on the tails of a dramatic confession. For someone who wasn’t much of a sweet-talker, you could feel every sentence in his touch. 

With each graze of his fingers, with each brush of his lips. I love you. I’m sorry.

All of those days, pining over him as he’d speak about the newest concoctions he had come up with, had finally come to fruition.

He pulled away for air, resting his forehead on yours. The vermillion of his eyes was so piercing, so stark against the pale tones of his skin.

“Because of you.” He murmured. You felt him intertwine your bare fingers, pressing his calloused hands against your own. You stared at him, confused.

“You asked me why I do this.” He explains. “I do it to preserve you.”

His sentence almost fades in his throat.

"To preserve… us."

please consider leaving a note/reblog if you enjoyed!! c:

#diluc x reader #genshin impact fanfics #diluc x fem!reader #diluc x male reader #genshin impact x reader

[itsclydebitches]

While it was nice to finally get some more fight scenes in a show about people training to fight things it feels like RT still has no idea how character abilities work or how to compare character strength, the final showdown with the cat is an obvious example with Ruby easily blocking an attack from the cat while Juan, a character who's whole thing is having a ridiculous amount of aura has it completely drained and break from a single hit. Honestly feels like a repeat of the Schnee manor fights.

Ruby's part of the fight was the best we've seen in a while (though frankly I don't think that's much of a contest this Volume, not when all the other fights were akin to tame skirmishes: chess piece grunts, Jabberwalker, Ruby too depressed to fight back) and I really liked the lead-in to her return while going after Crescent Rose... but yeah, the rest was pretty boring imo. And, as you say, suffers from this ongoing problem of abilities/power-scaling. It's bad enough that Jaune is taken out so quickly, but the reason for that is so he can fall from the tree and... encounter smoke? That fixes their possession problem after only being portrayed as a dangerous temptation up until now? The fact that the writers thought it was a good idea to have the Cat scream, "No! These FEELINGS!!" when, cringe aside, that doesn't even make sense - they're arguably the most emotionally complex Afteran! - tells you all you need to know about that fight.

Honestly, some nice choreography/imagery aside, I think the whole fight is fundamentally flawed. Why is the Cat our final villain when Neo herself is right there? Why doesn't the possession result in any cool abilities? (Because the Ruby puppets were just... bad). Why bother with the possession at all when it was immediately solved through a solution with no lead-up? Why, after a Volume of seeing the Cat separate their body into individual pieces - which could be used for cool battle strategy - are they suddenly transforming into this hulking beast? Why did the Volume introduce the Jabberwalker just to immediately kill it off, giving Neo the equivalent of Weiss' summoning ability when she was already CRAZY op this season? Why was our culminating team attack just a bunch of colored blurs that - and this is a nitpick - weren't even the right colors for RWBY? Then there's Ruby herself who, yeah, absolutely looks the best compared to everyone else, but considering this confident, triumphant fight comes about after, not even speed-running a recovery arc, but outright bypassing it, makes the whole thing feel totally unearned. Some cool imagery and a revised "Red Like Roses" can't get me invested if the core reason Ruby is fighting against doesn't hold together.

You can't have Ruby suffer the worst defeat she's ever faced, learn her good friend was murdered for a second time, crumble under the realization that she can't defeat an immortal witch, be ignored by her entire team for two-ish days, lash out at them, actively flinch away from her weapon, get tortured by the villain, drink the tea, learn her mom lied to everyone about her final, presumably deadly mission, and then solve ALL OF THAT by... remembering said mom saying she's perfect back when she was, like, five?

This just in, extreme depression to the point of suicidal intent is solved by recalling a single platitude from your parent, the one who you just learned is a liar who left you and your sister behind for a mission she knew was likely to kill her. Rejoice and bring on the triumphant battle, complete with confident smirk!

#rwde #rwby #mymetas #suicide tw

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Narnia Headcanons

King Edmund the Just

Had several casual relationships and hook-ups with people of all genders, but he neither fell in love with someone nor did he think that someone was politically beneficial enough to marry. He prefers not to label his sexuality.

Narnians gave him many titles. The Fair Judge, the Swordmaster of Narnia, King Edmund the Benevolent, Representative of the People and so on. He was greatly admired in the supreme court of Narnia for his kindness and unbiased treatment of everyone. Beyond Narnian borders he was called the Cunning Fox of Narnia, King Edmund Swordstorm, Edmund the Serpent-Tongued King, the Hurricane of Narnia, etc.

He was the chief diplomat of Narnia, and frequently journeyed to foreign nations to deal with international matters. He was renowned for his art of conversation and would weave such elaborate traps with his words that his prey did not realise they were in danger until they had no way of getting out.

He was a deadly swordfighter— he carried two swords, and despite the lack of a shield, preferred to wear leather armour instead of chainmail. The unconventional armour sent the message that he was lethal enough to not need any real protection.

In one-on-one duels, Peter was better, but Edmund was known as Swordstorm and the Hurricane of Narnia for a reason. His dual swords carved through dozens of enemy soldiers within moments, cutting swathes through the battlefield like a storm. He was brutal, swift and never left a foe alive, and was probably more feared that Peter.

His hair went down to the middle of his back, and was always in braids just like Peter's. He would let Lucy braid flowers into his hair whenever both of them needed to relax or had time. It wasn't uncommon to see the Just King walking around Paravel with roses or violets or jasmines in his hair. When they fell out of Narnia, he had thirty-two braids.

His war paint was deceptively mild looking— two dark green lines running over his left eye down to his chin, and three large dots on the underside of his right eye. It did not look very terrifying, but anybody who ever made the mistake of taking him to be harmless met their death at his sword a second later.

Enjoyed both studying and sports— he often took part in wrestling competitions and mock skirmishes, and just as often could be found debating with Susan, or metaphorically destroying some poor soul that had fallen for his charm and agreed to play chess with him, or in the library with his head buried in a book.

He and Peter refused to duel each other after a certain point in time. They knew each other's fighting styles too well— the duel would always end in a draw, no matter how brutal and deadly Edmund was or how fast and strong Peter was.

Just as good a war strategist as the other Pevensies. He usually left the strategising to Peter and Lucy, but when he did put in his two words, his plans were always crucial in winning wars.

His favourite subjects were Politics, History and funnily enough, cooking. He would often sneak into the kitchens during his free time and ask the chefs to teach him how to cook. Within a year of sitting in on meal prep, he was excellent at cooking, and at least every two months the Pevensies gathered for a family dinner prepared by Edmund.

Piercings. His right ear had four piercings and left had two. He had one in his belly-button and another on his tongue, and then a vertical piercing at his right eyebrow that exacerbated the action of him raising an eyebrow.

The King of Pranks™. Permanent and semi-permanent residents of the castle were frequent targets for his pranks, and the stories of his mischief-making were so outrageous and unbelievable that if anyone who had never been on the wrong end of his metaphorical sword would never even entertain the idea of them being true.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia headcanons #chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie headcanons #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #the pevensie siblings #the pevensies #pevensies #pevensie siblings #amrut writes about narnia

[thewhumperinwhite]

WKW: The Voice That Shakes The Stones (Part 2)

Continued directly from this, but will make more sense if you've also read The Rose Queen parts 1 and 2.

This one follows part one in terms of getting some plot stuff out of the way up top and then some Really Heavy Whump in the back half lmao

TW for: broken bones (including ribs and spine), blood, aftermath of beating/caning, past/referenced child abuse, referenced parental death, referenced decapitation, Again Broken Bones To The Extent That It Is Essentially Body Horror.

----

Morden raises a sculpted eyebrow at Tern. “Been opening my mail, have you?”

Tern looks at him; or at least Morden assumes he does. Tern wears an elaborately constructed mask sewn out of feathers and leather and bone, and removes it very rarely.

“I open everyone’s mail,” Tern says.

Morden knows this, of course. He has no secrets to keep from his own Falconers, and if and when such secrets do arise, he will simply have Thorne deliver them. If Morden feels—caught off guard, set on edge, it is no fault of Tern’s, and snapping at his own Scout will not help him feel more in control, anyway. Morden arranges himself more casually at his desk with a bit of effort.

“What do you think of the Lady’s proposal?” he asks, forcing his voice back into its usual light and airy register.

Tern tilts his head. The mask makes him the most actually-birdlike of all the Falconers, a fact Morden usually finds endearing, though he is struggling not to be annoyed by it at the moment.

“It’s my job to know things, not to act on them,” Tern says finally. Which is a letdown after such a long thoughtful pause, even though it is also true. Morden does not roll his eyes, but the temptation is there. “What do you think, Mord?”

Morden sits up straight and brushes his hair from his face. What he thinks is, she must have eyes in the Castle that Morden can’t see, to be able to time this missive so exactly. But that thought is uselessly paranoid—Tern would know, and Tern would tell him—so he is not entertaining it. Or vocalizing it, either.

“I think she’s audacious,” he says instead, which is true. “And I think I had better consider carefully before I think anything much else.” He folds the letter back up, so that he will not keep reading it uselessly over and over, and looks up at Tern, pretending to make eye contact through the mask. “In the meantime, make sure the Prince doesn’t die, will you? I may finally be able to put him to some use.”

Tern nods, and stalks out silently, still in his soft-soled scouting boots.

Morden makes it, optimistically, another five minutes before he unfolds the letter to read it again.

“Your desires have aligned neatly with our own, dear Crane,” reads the now-familiar script, “and the appropriate sacrifices have been made.”

Morden has not yet opened the accompanying jeweled and gilded casket, but the size and heft of it—and, more importantly, the smell—makes him fairly confident he knows what will be inside.

“A healthy partnership ought be reciprocal, however,” the letter goes on.

Morden chews his thumbnail, a nervous habit he does not often indulge. He scolds himself; he is only now realizing how he has begun to enjoy his exchanges with the Rose Queen, how they have begun to feel so like a game of chess against an interesting opponent as to make him forget the stakes. It has left him feeling—exposed, now, at best; trapped if he is not careful.

He needs to make a plan.

----

This is not part of Crow’s job.

It’s all very well for Tern, who relays Crane’s instructions—“Fix up the Summer Prince; the White Crane had his fun and now wants not to play with broken toys”—and then scurry off with the excuse of some Important Scouting Duty, which Crow suspects is probably bullshit.

When Morden introduces the Falconer’s, he says that Crow’s job is “Throatcutter,” the one who makes sure everyone’s theatrics have resulted in actual corpses at the end of every ambush and skirmish. And although that isn’t all he does—far from it—that is certainly part of his job. If the White Crane had said, “I’m too busy to finish killing the Summer Prince, finish that up for me, will you?” Crow would have done it, and with a whistle and a spring in his step.

Crow is built for ending lives, it’s truly what he’s best at. He doesn’t prolong pain on purpose; he isn’t Raven. Once a creature is past a certain threshold of injury, keeping it alive becomes—boring and sad, and little else.

The Summer Prince flops slightly at Crow’s feet, as if hearing him think this. He is moving like a deboned fish. Sounds a bit like one, as well.

Morden is going to owe him, and Morden doesn’t enjoy owing things, even to his own Falconers. So at least, Crow thinks, there is that.

“I don’t suppose you can walk,” Crow says. He slides the toe of his boot underneath the writhing shape of the Summer Prince, meaning only to nudge him slightly.

There is—more give in the ribs than there should be.

The body at his feet spasms violently as the Prince tries to curl in around himself. He manages to twist his torso in a way that makes Crow’s gorge rise a bit in spite of himself, his handless arm flopping over and up to haphazardly cover his face. His legs don’t move at all.

Crow contemplates, very briefly, the idea of picking the Summer Prince up off the floor and carrying him to Heron’s quarters, or more probably to the Castle’s Healer. He doesn’t mind blood, as a rule. The blood would not be the problem.

The Prince heaves in what must be his first full breath since Crow entered the room several minutes ago. It scrapes audibly against his throat; the effort of taking it arcs his back up off the floor, except that his legs still haven’t moved. Something—either ribs or spine, Crow isn’t sure which—grinds audibly inside him and he loses whatever air he has managed to take in in a single quiet, bubbly-sounding wail.

“Eugh,” Crow says, and turns his back on what is rapidly becoming the corpse of the Summer Prince. Where has that bloody wolf pup got himself to? Cleaning up Morden’s messes is literally that kid’s whole job.

----

(Andry can’t see. He can almost breathe, if he tries very hard. It feels like lifting a very heavy weight, and at the height of each breath there is a sudden stabbing pain in his back, just left of the center, that makes him twitch. He is in—water, maybe. Or anyway his face and shoulders and ears feel wet. His lips feel wet, too, although the inside of his mouth feels very dry indeed.)

(He must have hit his head, he thinks. He knows that burning cracked-egg feeling well enough, in his temple and below his right ear and on the high point of his opposite cheek. And his back is cracked open that way too, not sharp and bone deep like the whip but broad and blunt and shattered like his father’s cane.)

(His father is—dead, he thinks, around the buzzing in his head, like bees tangled up in cotton wool. The White Crane cut off his father’s head, and Andry could not catch it when it was thrown. And now he cannot even tell if he is sorry. His father did kill him once, after all.)

(He had known where he stood with his father, though. His father was not elegant and smiling, like the White Crane.)

(Although the White Crane was not smiling this time, was he, Andry thinks; no, this time he was angry, and the worst part is that Andry does not even know why.)

(…Andry thinks that is the worst part. Then he tries to move his legs.)

----

Heron is the Falconers’ battlefield medic, and he is not a healer. He has smelling salts in his bag that will get a man to his feet and into the fray with an arrow through the stomach; and skill enough with a needle and a bandage to patch up even serious punctures well enough to heal on their own. He even knows the basic alchemy needed to keep a wound from going septic about seven times out of ten.

In this situation he is useful only in that he has a stretcher he is willing to bring to Thorne’s chamber in exchange for the privilege of seeing a mutilated body.

Crow returns with Thorne and Heron after about five minutes, and it is clear as he nears the threshold and begins to hear the Prince’s breath whistling in and out, like wind blowing across a broken bottle, that the boy has not done him the great favor of dying in the interim.

One of the Prince’s eyes is open when Crow stands over him again, but it is rolled back in his head far enough to hide all but a thin ring of blue-purple iris. The other eye is already swollen too far to open more than a crack. Every time he takes a far-too-audible breath he shudders, violently, exactly twice. His torso is still twisted at that odd angle, as though he has tried to roll over onto his side without lifting his hips.

Thorne has been helping Heron carry the stretcher. When he enters the room he drops his end of it with a loud clatter.

Heron does not seem to notice, though he gamely drops his end of the stretcher, too, so that he can dart closer to the body, his pale eyes glittering behind his physician’s mask.

(Tern and Heron are both masked more often than they aren’t; both masks, as far as Crow is concerned, are products of paranoia. Tern is convinced some authority or other is going to discover his identity, as though that would matter now that he is at the right hand of the conqueror of a whole damned country. Heron is concerned about inhalants. This seems sensible sometimes, even to Crow; Heron takes apart something like a half-dozen cadavers a week in pursuit of his craft. However he also wears the mask when it is just the eight of them alone in the Nest or in their rooms here at the castle, and that seems like overkill to Crow.)

As always, Heron’s hands are light, and clever, and ruthless. He pulls the Prince’s fluttering eyelid up and peers closely into his eye, tipping his head back quite gently. Then he presses his fingers against the Prince’s shattered ribs with slow, deliberate pressure, using his hand in the Prince’s hair to keep the Prince from curling up in a ball at what must be excruciating pain. Heron’s face is quite close to the Prince’s answering gasp. Crow, a safe distance away with his arms crossed, thinks to himself that perhaps Heron wouldn’t need the mask if he was willing to do his job without getting so very close.

When the Prince has relaxed out of his pain-spasm, Heron taps twice on the sharp edge of the Prince’s sharp recently-starved hip bone with a gloved fist. The Prince’s gasp this time is much quieter, more of a hiccup than an airless scream.

When Heron stretches out a booted foot to give the Prince’s calf a not-particularly-gentle kick, the Prince doesn’t react at all.

“That’s interesting,” Heron says, his voice dark with things Crow finds professionally distasteful.

----

Thorne left Andry—what, thirty minutes ago? An hour? Surely no more than that. Thorne left Andry asleep on the couch at the foot of his bed, wrapped in Thorne’s borrowed sheets, curled up like a child with the stump of his missing hand tucked under his chin.

Thorne’s bedsheets are in disarray, now, on the floor in front of the couch. There is blood on them. There seems, at least to Thorne’s suddenly spotty and blurred vision, to be blood more places than there isn’t.

Heron’s hand is on Andry’s throat, now, prodding narrow deep bruise that is forming there. Heron is hovering over Andry with the same excited twitchy over-interest with which he treats any sick or injured person. Thorne is familiar enough with Heron’s attention to remember the growing unease and sick, crawling discomfort it inspires.

He usually finds it easier to look away.

“Well go on,” Crow snaps at him from where leaning against the wall, looking mildly disgusted but little else. “Get him on the fucking stretcher already.”

Thorne’s instinct to obey is honed sharply enough that he moves to follow the order without thinking. So at least there is that relief.

#the winter king's ward #whump #original whump #fantasy whump #royalty whump #beaten #caning #broken bones #whumper pov #broken ribs #broken spine #parental death mention #parental abuse mention #...man its been a long time since ive posted regularly i dont remember how tags work 😭 #i will TRY and remember who the taglist was for this by the time i do a next day reblog

[sunflowercider]

speaking of the white cavalry i know sir blanc said he'll give his loyalty to lloyd in a roundabout way but lloyd said to be careful with his words during the dead matsodons attack...

which brings me who do you think they sided with during the fourth ending spoiler where the queen waged war when she bace a bit crazy/paranoid

DELICIOUS ASK ANON, SO FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Damn. Damn. If I wanted to waste a few hours or days, I would sketch out entirely what I think happened politically and geographically in the fourth spoiler. While that future ends incredibly horribly, the lead up to it? Im so sorry, destiny writes some good stories (´-ω-`)

Anyways. Specifically about the white cavalry. After the dead mastadons attack kills 6 of the cavalry, Lloyd feels terrible. He feels it's only right to treat their remains with incredible care and respect, send a letter to the queen telling their tales as flowery as possible to help their loved ones get cared for in their absence, and build a memorial stone for them. Lloyd takes their lives (and the loss of them) gravely seriously. And Sir Blanc is moved nearly to tears.

This is a man who has been quite literally treated like a chess piece in others' wars. And here's some random noble who simply had an unpredictable skirmish with monsters, not even a proper battle, and treats their lives like precious gold. Sir Blanc, in his heart, wants to follow Lloyd (and I imagine the others in his group feel the same).

Lloyd may have roundaboutly turned him down but. The cavalry is still here you know.

When the queen loses her mind, there's first a civil war between those who support and those who oppose her. The Fronteras technically pick the side supporting her, but remain neutral otherwise. This is the most uncertain part for the cavalry. They could get called by the queen during this time, but my hunch is that the Fronteras' status quo is kept, as they are still technically an area of growth for the Cremona region, as well as a stronghold with the apartment fortresses. Leaving the cavalry with the County would make sense; theyre an important military group, but only a part of the queens forces. However, if the cavalry gets called at that moment, they will follow her. They are still loyal to the queen, they just also want to follow Lloyd... and hey, he's technically supporting her.

Now. If the cavalry stay at the Fronteras until the queen makes the error of attacking a peaceful foreign country and Lloyd opposes the decision? Oh ho hoooo thats a whole different ballgame.

The first civil war actually ended before that. Once the queen wins that, she attacks the Benetto Kingdom as a way to consolidate her nobles. (You know, similar to what the Sultan wanted to do?) Lloyd opposes when he hears - he built the route to Benetto for trade, not military. Then the next civil war begins.

HOW does the White Cavalry respond here?? What a pickle, what a pickle. There's no more pretending the queen and Lloyd stand aligned. There's a choice to be made. They're originally loyal to the queen but... she recently killed many nobles (and their armies) for reasons that were never justified properly, and then attacked and took control of a peaceful kingdom. You know, the cavalry helped build the mountain pass too. They have some pride.

In the face of all this, despite the fierce loyalty of a knight to their ruler... I think the White Cavalry would have to cave and join the Fronteras. I think they'd have a fierce internal fight about it, and they wouldn't be very happy about the choice either way. But Lloyd has shown his good nature many times over, while the queen has failed spectacularly. They know who is right.

But even if the White Cavalry did join the queen again due to knightly loyalty reasons, i think they would take the scenic route home. After all. Lloyd won the fight within 10 days. They can afford an unusually long walk back to the capital.

#sat here chewing on this for a legit hour #TEN DAYS #it only took him ten days to win a war against a kingdom that was world power until recently #anyways. the loyalty of knights is tricky. bc i dont think theres anything quite the same in the modern era? #at least in the western world? (like where i am) #loyalty is still a thing but KNIGHTLY loyalty is a whoooole kettle of fish #i need to emphasize- javier refusing the queen to be with the Fronteras is both exemplary of impeccable loyalty and also highly insane #loyalty in the face of even powerful people? perfect loyalty. loyalty to the minor nobles when the queen they serve asks for loyalty? insane #anyways #im off track #holy shit im sorry this was so long #tged #long post #_:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

[sequestered-song-skirmish]

Round 1 Poll 35

廢話：　「一直期待烈鹰的音樂終於來了。自從看到他的老樂隊 Muninn 的演唱会後我就成為了這位歌手的粉絲。該視頻於昨天發布，目前有六十次觀看。Stan Josh.」

("The long-awaited Lièyīng music has come at last. I've been a fan of this singer since seeing a concert of his old band, Muninn. This video/song was published yesterday and currently has 60 views. Stan Josh.")

Stalemate：　「Top 10 songs about chess」

#poll #lieying #烈鷹 #the schwacksters #muninn #oh wait is muninn a rottmnt thing? #whatever makes more people listen to these i guess #Youtube

[simstryingtheirbestok]

Q: What's worse than being awakened at 3 in the morning by a shrieking alarm?

A: Being awakened at 3 in the morning by TWO shrieking alarms.

Why's it always gotta be two disasters simultaneously in my game? In David's save he couldn't just be visited by a burglar, no! he had to be visited by a burglar and aliens.

This fire started literally seconds after the burglar showed up. Here, look!

Sure, it's my fault for leaving the fire going. Fine. I'll own that.

Jian Wei has the Brave trait. Unfortunately, his negative trait is Absent-Minded. So he started out of the bedroom intending to subdue the burglar, but then he spaced it.

He was brave enough to team up with Dietmar to put out the fire, though, so I can't complain. He hit it with the fire extinguisher while Dietmar ice-blasted it.

The burglar, of course, got away through her wily maneuver of walking straight past the cop.

"Oh hey. 'sup, officer."

"Have you seen any crime?"

"Can't say that I have. I gotta get to work now, though."

"Good day, citizen!"

The Sims 3 cop is an Imperial Guard now, I guess. Except, the player actually had some reason to fear the law in Oblivion. In TS3, psh.

At this point it was around 5 a.m. and my control-freak side had a little skirmish with my play-by-the-rules side.

On the one hand, I didn't want these fellas passing out at 2 p.m. or taking naps on the couch that would only be interrupted by, probably, Jian working out to the stereo.

On the other hand, the rules say to leave 'em alone. Embrace the chaos!

But some kinds of chaos are fun and other kinds of chaos are boring, and I think sleep-deprived contestants are the boring kind of chaos. So I settled on putting all their motives like this:

--because what I had planned for the morning were 1:1 chess dates, an hour each. They couldn't do that if they were all hungry, tired, dirty, and needing to pee.

#ts3 #ts3 legacy #sims 3 #sims 3 legacy #the sims 3 legacy #planetary legacy #generation venus #undine's bachelorette challenge #ubc day 4 #sim: dietmar bloom #sim: jian wei #sim: carlos estrada #sim: youssef nagi

[herculesgarcia]

Starter for @astuteknaves, wonderland AU

'Why me?'

Hércules asked once again, and not for the first time, wincing at the pain that shoot up his left leg every single time he took a step. Which he couldn't stop doing, as he was anxiously pacing up and down in his Commander's tent. His older sister. Andrómeda. Also known as the Jabberwock. A fearful monster, like that of legends, with a forked tongue, snake-like eyes, dark scaly wings and hands that ended in sharp, menacing claws. One that had sang him lullabies and slept with him during thunderstorms. One that had been by his side when he had cried, that had dried his tears, that had raised him like a parent when that role wasn't supposed to belong to her.

'You're the only person I trust.' Andro hissed, like a serpent would.

'I'm too old for this.'

'You're twenty-four.'

He was, yes, but he should have retired from this war business long ago. He shouldn't have even begun, in the first place. Now, instead of a dodgy knee and a backpack full of shame at what he had done, he would have a beautiful wife, maybe even a baby or two, a nice house. He would be sitting at his porch with a glass of whiskey and ice in his hand, watching his children play, smelling the air; roasted potatoes and spiced beef, his favorite, coming from the open window of the kitchen, where the love of his life was making them dinner. The sun setting, submerging in the sea... as did corpses. The corpses of those they killed in yesterday's skirmish, that they had disposed of in the nearest body of water ― a small river, the water in it no longer blue and crystalline, but crimson red and reeking of death.

'I don't want to do it.'

'I'm not giving you a choice.'

───⋆☆─────────────

His boots were dirty with mud, blood, and other body fluids. Grass and other plants were clutching on to them, as if telling him don't go, you won't find anything of use there, you're just about to get yourself in more trouble... but he didn't have a choice, did he? He'd do it. For Andro. For Cass.

Every time he thought of her, the White Queen turned Mad Hatter, he felt his heart thumping and pounding not only in his chest, but also in his ears. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was out of shape after living what could be considered by most a comfortable life and they had been climbing a slippery slope for the last half an hour. They ― him and his soldiers. Pawns in this chess game that had little to gain and everything to lose, but that were here because... of what? Loyalty to a Queen who was no longer sane? Who could no longer be relied upon? Because they felt that she had been wronged and wanted to make it right? Cass was his sister, and he needed no more motive than that. But the others...?

Far away, now that he was on leveled ground, he saw the faint glow of a campfire. The wind was growling angry, but he could still hear the animated chatter going on around the source of light; as if those men were not fighting a war, but friends who had gathered to share stories, drinks, and food. Their voices brought a wave of fear at what he was doing. He was taking a big risk, but it was a risk Andro had bestowed upon him, and that had been enough to convince him. That, and the promise that if he didn't do as his superior desired, he'd join the mountains of corpses looming everywhere, an oath he knew his beloved sister was not going to fulfill, but that had still sent shivers down his spine. Only the dead knew how this would end, and he wasn't in the mood to join their ranks just to find out.

So, after checking that every piece of his armor was still in place, including helmet he walked towards them. As his eyes adjusted, he counted the figures wrapped in furs and frayed coats. Seven of them. The lucky number. Both men and women, most with scarred faces, worried looks or almost-friendly smiles. Shields, swords, axes and other weapons. Weapons that could find their new home in his skull if he didn't choose his words properly.

'Good night!' He yelled, approaching them with both his arms lifted, palms of his hands looking towards them, his sword sheathed, resting on its scabbard. Of course, the opposite faction warriors' own hands moved towards their blades, or whatever tool was nearest to them, faces turning in their direction. 'I'm here... to parley.'

#astuteknaves #wonderland au #wondarkland au

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 1,801

[S] WV?: Rise up.

Storyboards: http://readmspa.org/storyboards/01801.swf.html

Song used: Skaian Skirmish by Andrew Huo and Toby Fox

Author commentary:

[S] WV?: Rise up is another big, splashy, game-changing animation. We get a megadose of worldbuilding when it comes to the Battlefield, which has been a fairly mysterious, neglected cosmological feature up until now. It evolves to become more complex with each player entry, and only begins resembling a planet on the third change. When it reaches planet form, that's when it finally serves as a viable stage for a major, global war between the two kingdoms. And remember that time is screwy for these game-construct settings. Once they come into being, it's as if they've always been. In other words, when the Battlefield turns into a planet, suddenly it's as if it has always been a planet and a war has been raging there for years.

0:26 - It's very fortunate for the peasants that their planet-sized chessboard is arable.

0:43 - In this big chess analogy, these guys are pawns, I guess. The analogy must be pretty loose though, because it doesn't seem like any of them are respecting the grid they're marching over at all.

0:49 - Yeah, I… I'm going to have to admit, this is where the chess analogy breaks down completely. This is just fucking Star Wars now.

0:52 - The big rook freak there is a brief glimpse of the cruelty and horrors of genetic engineering for the purposes of royal warfare.

0:59 - WV began life as a simple farmer. It's a small enough detail that I don't actually remember if he was a defector from the Derse army who started to farm, or if he began that way because for some reason the kingdom also supplies a stock of peasants to farm the land while a battle rages on. Either way, he's an extremely war-weary guy, and not happy at all that the nice, tall grass he was farming just burned down.

1:05 - The incineration of WV's can-themed farm is what triggers his hatred of kings and their warmongering tyranny. We knew he hated kings, and now we know why he hates kings. You can check this off your list now.

1:09 - Here's our first glimpse of a king. His scepter, rather than a magic ring, is what grants him the power of the prototypings. It also makes him huge, and thus a formidable opponent, and is why he's basically the final boss of any Sburb session, assuming the game goes how it's supposed to. Just like chess, obviously: you kill the king and you win.

1:12 - The scepter is a pretty special object. Aside from granting powers and size, it has Skaia itself sitting atop it. Not a mock Skaia, as an ornament, but the real Skaia, as a smaller instantiation of itself, currently contained within itself as a recursive construct. Flying into the Skaia on the scepter is exactly the same as flying into Skaia in the center of the Medium. You could then travel down to the Battlefield, find the king, and fly into Skaia all over again. But if you leave Skaia, you'd never fly out of the scepter. You'd always just fly out of Skaia. Got it? Imagine him using this as a weapon in the final battle. He swats one member of your party with it, and suddenly they find themselves all the way at the edge of Skaia, and they have to fly down to the Battlefield to rejoin the battle, wasting valuable time. It's a nasty end-boss move that can disrupt your tactics.

1:24 - Two things are brewing here. WV is organizing his mutiny by recruiting disaffected troops from both sides. Meanwhile, Jack is flying overhead, planning his massacre by sizing up all of WV's troops for a nice murder spree.

1:29 - Racism is over.

1:33 - This is all part of the White Queen's gambit. Hand off the ring and scepter to PM, so she can keep them safe, while WQ and WK get out of Dodge and meet on post-apocalyptic Earth to colonize it. She realizes this session is hopeless, and there's nothing much else to do but escape, start a new civilization, and blow up all the bridges between Earth and the session. It almost works!

1:38 - It's of some interest to note that PM is holding the scepter. Which means that wielding it, unlike wearing the ring, does not grant powers to just any carapacian. The scepter apparently only works its magic on kings. As Jack proves later though, you can still wield the scepter and utilize certain powers it has, like initiating the Reckoning.

1:42 - Sburb as an infinitely complex game of Silly Chess means it has a few loose parallels with the rules of chess. In chess, the king, while essential to keep alive, is a very weak piece. The scepter-bearing kings here obviously are very strong, so that's a departure. But one similarity is of a tactical nature. The kings here are still these slow, lumbering things of very limited tactical value. They stay on the Battlefield, don't cover a lot of ground, and are kind of sitting ducks when someone nasty like Jack flies along. Whereas queens have far greater tactical maneuverability. They generally stay on Derse, but can really go anywhere and can do a lot of damage, armed with their very powerful rings. But again, as in chess, they generally stay put for a while and are only deployed once strategy demands it.

1:52 - It's probably considered bad form by just about any other carapacian to think about destroying a king's scepter. That's not how a cleanly fought war is supposed to go. But Jack is designed to be a cheater.

1:55 - I wonder if WV is second-guessing why he was ever even mad at this guy. He looks like he could be a nice buddy, if they decided to bury the hatchet right here. Too bad it will be a moot point soon.

1:57 - Featured above: one of the worst fistbump malfunctions of all time.

1:58 - What would have happened if Jack hadn't intervened here? Would WV's insurrection have succeeded? There isn't much reason to believe WV's army would have defeated a giant prototyped king, so most likely Jack just saved WV's life. Sburb includes a lot of possibilities for making things interesting outside of its usual programmed path, which probably includes potential for little pawn guy mutinies like this now and then. But it wouldn't be much of a game if a bunch of pawns could take down the final boss before you ever meet him. The possibility of a Jack mutiny being successful, in which case he simply replaces the final boss, is a much more interesting way for the game to mix things up.

2:06 - I really have no idea how Jack crammed that crown on his head, over his jester prongs. Are those like…floppy? Did he bunch all the prongs together first, and feed them into the hat, before yanking it down for them to rip through the fabric? He also only has one arm to accomplish all this. It seems awkward. Whatever he did, WV sure wasn't thrilled about the spectacle.

2:10 - Then this scepter just stays here until [S] Descend. I can't for the life of me remember how it actually gets from this location to being in Jack's possession. Hang on while I flip ahead to the end of the book. Oh okay, it's CD. He picks it up and gives it to Jack. Of course he does. What a little scamp.

#Youtube

[madepolaris]

Ghost recon future soldier costume

Note that the custom ACR is considered an exotic weapon, which means its parts cannot be modified. The Future Soldier Pack in Ghost Recon: Wildlands contains three exclusive in-game items: a Future Soldier outfit, a gear patch, and an ACR assault rifle with a custom Future Soldier paint pattern. Players who previously owned Ghost Recon Future Soldier can unlock the Future Soldier DLC Pack in Ghost Recon: Wildlands, completely for free. If these things all add up to what you normally enjoy in games, then Ghost Recon: Future Soldier is a great buy.If you’re a fan of Ghost Recon games and have played some of the recent titles in the series, you can snag yourself some free loot in Ghost Recon: Wildlands. The competitive multiplayer won't do much for the title's value, but the cooperative play can be really, really fun. Bro-love, shoot-shoot, kill-kill and a false sense of emotion all come out in spades during this title's playthrough. However, it's still a war game with a standard set of typical pieces. Yes, the gadgets and setting make this game a standout in the cover-based shooter genre. Whether or not you should pick up Ghost Recon: Future Soldier hinges entirely on one thing: are you tired of military shooters? Each time, I had to reload the checkpoint and try again. The prone NPC never made it to the circle and I was never able to proceed. The game frequently requires players to stand in visible circles before the next segment begins. I need him in order to proceed to the next area. He just crawled into the same wall forever. One character in particular went prone and never stood up. The NPC characters take the same route the players do. While navigating through a building with rubble, players are asked to go prone from time to time in order to duck below fallen walls. One time in particular was quite frustrating. It happened to me several times during my playthrough of this title. Know what stinks? When you're playing a game and you have to reload to an old checkpoint because one of the NPC characters glitches out. Playing together in this title feels great, and I highly recommend the experience to those with a friends list full of capable players. The title goes from being one man's high-powered romp through platoons of bad dudes into four friends taking on the world. Take all of that planning and gadgetry that was so enjoyable in solo stints from the single player campaign and add up to three of your friends to the mix. The cooperative play, however, is really fun. The competitive play is just so-so, and it stands as little more than a distraction from the overall game. You can either engage in the standard fare of competitive levels, or you can take on the campaign in cooperative style. There are two types of multiplayer in this offering from Ubisoft. Planning and tech use still happened, but doing so didn't give me as much of a rush as it did before. I personally found those levels to be a lot less interesting. Without giving too much away, the battlefield is leveled out quite a bit as the game reaches its conclusion. It's a great feeling.Īs the story advances, however, the all-powerful feeling fades. Sure, the AI can be really stupid here, but your NPC helpers seem to know what you want to do and work to facilitate that as much as possible. Between marking targets with your UAV, silently taking down the loners and knowing when to engage in an all out firefight, every skirmish feels like an interesting chess match. That's what I mean when I reference Batman here the Ghost Recon team feels all powerful.Īll of the power and tech comes to fruition when you pace yourself and slowly plan the way you'll own each encounter. All the sensors, HUD changes,weaponry and combat aids feel like futuristic toys. The bread and butter of this game, if it isn't obvious enough by the assets produced by Ubisoft, is the future tech. Heck, there are even a few solid twists along the way. It feels entirely rehashed, but it works on almost every level. When you're not being pulled out of the story by lame one-liners, the adventure in Ghost Recon: Future Soldier can be engaging. At times, the scenes can be great slices of life for the small special forces crew. The cutscenes, however, are an interesting breed. The map banter is never engaging, but it often stands simply as a way to tell story in between levels.

#Ghost recon future soldier costume